Everyone Worth Knowing (55 page)

a Muslim country and all that, but I'm dressed as conservatively as

my wardrobe will permit," Isabelle announced, casting her eyes

down to her outfit. Her halter dress looked as though it were made

of metal; it left her entire back bare, and part of her ass, although

anything truly obscene was covered, and it did actually reach to

her knees. In front it dipped down to her belly button, but the material

still clung to her perfect breasts just next to the nipples. Upon

closer inspection, I decided she must've taped it there. Silver,

open-toed stiletto sandals and an alligator clutch completed her

look.

"Do you think they even have Cristal there?" Davide asked with

urgency. "They do have bottle service, don't they, Bette?"

I was about to tell him that he would probably survive the

night regardless of the presence or lack of magnums of Cristal, but

Kamal, who'd been listening quietly with no expression whatsoever,

leaned in conspiratorially. "Friends, I assure you that you will

find everything to your satisfaction. Tonight's venue will surely

please you, as we have arranged it all."

"So, Kamal, let's talk girls. What's the deal with Turkish girls?"

Philip asked. Davide laughed appreciatively and Elisa made a big

show of rolling her eyes in my direction. I caught on quickly that

this is how girlfriends were supposed to act and rolled mine right

back.

"Hypothetically speaking?" Kamal asked. He thought for a moment

and then said, "Mr. Weston, I think you will find Turkish girls

the very same as American or British or anywhere else—some are,

shall we say, more willing, while others come from good families

and want no part of that."

"And which ones are we most likely to make the acquaintance

of tonight, Kamal? The willing ones or the ice queens?"

Philip had clearly won Kamal over because he began to grin

and play along. He took a giant swig from his tumbler before arranging

his features in something approximating a serious expression

and saying, "The former, Mr. Weston. I predict you will

encounter more of the former category this evening."

Philip grinned right back and held up his hand for a high-five,

which Kamal instantly accommodated. "That will be acceptable,

Mr. Avigdor. Thank you."

Not surprisingly, no bill ever appeared on the table, and by the

time we piled onto the boat—a yacht, maybe, or perhaps a sailboat—

that would transport us down the Bosporus to Bella, I was

slightly buzzed and somewhat enjoying the night. In an effort to

distract myself from watching Isabelle paw Sammy, I'd gone from

person to person, persuading them to pose for the photographers

for a half-hour upon arrival at the club, followed by another halfhour

of on-the-record partying where anything they said or did

could be reported by the writers we'd brought along. However,

after that, the work would be officially over and everyone could

party to any level of debauchery they desired without worrying too

much about those pesky
COKE AND HOOKERS!
headlines. There was

still the Turkish media to be wary of, but I didn't predict they'd

pose much of a problem, and Kamal promised to keep them out of

the VIP areas. All in all, most everyone seemed satisfied with the

arrangement, and the crew appeared almost excited as the boat

docked at a red-carpeted pier.

"Are all the men going to stare at us?" Elisa asked Kamal, her

eyes wide with worry.

"Stare at you? Why? Of course, they will notice your beauty, but

I don't think they will make you uncomfortable," he said.

"Well, if they're only used to seeing women wearing burkas, I

imagine we'll stand out," she said thoughtfully.

Sammy shot me a look—one of many that evening, since we'd

sat across from each other at dinner—and I managed to stifle a

laugh, although not without a snort. She whipped around and

glared at me. "What? Do you feel like having a bunch of peasants

staring at you all night? I didn't have to fly all this way for that—we

could've just gone to New Jersey!"

Kamal kindly ignored her as he helped us off the boat and introduced

us to another group of men, all of whom appeared to be

good-looking and really, really successful. They were the rest of

our clients, and each had between two and four knockout girls

hanging on their every word. Much to Elisa's and Isabelle's surprise,

these girls were not wearing burkas. They weren't even

really wearing bras, if we were going to be technical. The amount

of naked female flesh on display was almost blinding, and we

hadn't even made it inside yet.

One of the new men introduced himself as Nedim and announced,

quite grandly, that he owned Bella, the sprawling complex

of entertainment that stretched before us. It had its own

marina to allow celebrities and visiting VIPs to bypass the whole

door situation; guests could merely step off their boats and fall directly

onto a banquette, where anything they could even think to

desire would be immediately provided. Nedim managed to look

like every other club owner I'd ever met: he was the classic chainsmoking,

vintage T-shirt and retro sneaker wearing, spiky-haired

guy who no one would ever notice if he didn't drive the requisite

red Porsche and comp bottles of champagne.

"Ladies, gentlemen, welcome to Bella," he announced, sweeping

his arms grandly, "the premier nighttime destination in Istanbul.

Bella rests, as you can see, on the Bosporus River, right at the dividing

point between Europe and Asia, and our clientele certainly

reflects that international feel. Come with me, please, and prepare

yourself to enjoy all that Bella has to offer."

He escorted us to a massive round table perched right on the

water inside a roped-off section of the club that screamed "VIP."

Only the flimsiest teak gate separated us from the river, and even that

reached only two and a half feet high, a potential drunken disaster

if I've ever seen one. The view was incredible: both small and

large boats cruised slowly across the murky water, passing in front

of a beautifully lit mosque with minarets that appeared to reach the

sky. The floors were a shiny dark wood, almost black, and the

banquettes were satin brocade with strings of gold filigree woven

throughout. It was entirely open-air except for a few white canvas

sheets that billowed out in the wind and lent the whole place an

air of sexy exoticism; the only light came from Turkish-style glass

lanterns and hundreds of tea lights in beaded votive holders.

Roughly hewn bowls of mini apricots and pistachios rested on

every available surface. It was undoubtedly the sexiest place I'd

ever been, far more naturally chic than all the cool spots in New

York or Los Angeles, but without that signature self-awareness that

places seemed to develop when they knew they were hot.

A fleet of stylish waiters instantly surrounded the table and

took our drink orders. Within a half-hour, everyone was pleasantly

buzzed, and by the time midnight rolled around, Klisa and Philip

were dancing on the tables. They looked pretty comfortable with

the grinding groove they had going. It suggested something romantic—

and recent. The photographers clicked away, but Nedim and

crew kept them so plied with booze and girls and God knows

what else that they missed a shot of Marlena straddling a famous

Turkish soccer player who also belonged in the VIP area. I managed

to separate them before anyone noticed and convince them

that they'd be much happier in her room at the Four Seasons, and

they didn't even protest when I escorted them to a waiting Town

Car out front and instructed the driver to take them back to the

hotel. I'd just hung up with the hotel's concierge—who assured me

he'd whisk them to Marlena's room and keep out any photogs or

reporters—when Sammy appeared at my side.

"Hey, where've you been hiding?" he said, wrapping his arms

around me from behind and kissing my neck. "I managed to keep

track of you all night, and then you were just gone."

"Hi there," I said.

He glanced around to make sure he didn't see Isabelle or

Philip or anyone with a camera. "Let's get out of here," he said

gruffly. "They're all so drunk, they'll never notice." Again he kissed

my neck, this time more roughly, and for the first time I had an

inkling that Sammy wasn't just a nice guy. Thankfully.

"I can't, Sammy. I want to, but I can't. I've got to keep my eye

on everyone here—it's literally my only responsibility."

"It's almost two. How much longer can they really keep this

up?"

"You of all people know the answer to that. Until daybreak,

easily. Maybe we can figure something out later at the hotel, but

right now I've got to go back in there."

He let his arms drop by his sides and sighed loudly. "I know

this is how it has to be. It just sucks. You go in first, and I'll come

in a couple minutes." He started to run his fingers through my hair

but abruptly pulled them away at the sound of his name.

"Sammy? Are you out here? Have you seen my boy—my, uh,

my assistant?" Isabelle's shrill voice echoed over the water. I turned

to see her asking one of the uniformed security guards who'd been

watching us carefully to make sure no one harassed us.

"Jesus Christ," Sammy muttered, moving away from me. "What,

she can't find the bathroom herself? I've got to run."

"Just wait, I'll handle this," I said and squeezed his hand. "Isabelle,

over here! He's over here."

Isabelle's head swiveled, and when she saw us, she looked at

first relieved and then confused. She ignored me completely while

addressing Sammy. "I've been looking for you forever," she

whined, obviously forgetting I was standing there, and then dropping

the whine when she remembered.

"Sorry to steal him from you, Isabelle. Marlena and the guy she

was with were pretty trashed, and Sammy was kind enough to

help me put them in a car. We were just on our way back in."

This seemed to mollify her, although she still hadn't acknowledged

my presence. She was staring at Sammy, and he was intently

focused on his feet.

"Okay, well, I'm going to see how everyone's doing inside," I

said cheerily. I made my way to the door, but not before I overheard

Isabelle's voice change from whiny to viciously cold.

"I don't pay you good money to neglect and abandon me!" she

hissed.

"Oh, save it, Isabelle," Sammy said, sounding more exhausted

than annoyed. "I was helping her out for five minutes. I was hardly

abandoning you."

"Well, how do you think it feels to be sitting all alone in there

while my guy runs off to help someone else?"

Unfortunately, I had to walk through the door and couldn't

hear Sammy's response. The VIP area was completely empty by